


there are bridges you cross

by ariesnoctua



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon up to episode 7 of season 1 and diverges after that, F/F, Memory Alteration, POV Catra (She-Ra), Role Reversal, Shadow Weaver | Light Spinner's A+ Parenting, catra accidentally develops a conscience and hates every second of it, rated t for swearing bc catra and glimmer should get to swear tbh, sort of? catra's the one wanting to leave the horde and adora's the one who wants to stay, title is from wicked because i have no shame anymore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-18 21:09:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29615475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariesnoctua/pseuds/ariesnoctua
Summary: “No, I’ve taken care of the issue myself. Adora won’t be going back to the Rebellion. She won’t even try.”“And why’s that? Sudden change of heart? Another morality crisis?”“Because she won’t remember them.”Or: Shadow Weaver’s plan in Mystacor actually succeeds, and she makes sure Adora won’t ever want to leave again.Or: Catra gets everything she’s ever wanted.Or: Does she?(or: AU where Shadow Weaver gets Adora back early s1 and wipes her mind of She-Ra and the rebellion)
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Comments: 26
Kudos: 66





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> sometimes you just gotta write a season 1 AU a year after the show ended, yk?

The summons comes unexpectedly, taking today from shitty to exponentially shittier.

Not that anything in particular happened –it’s just what days are like, lately. Part of it’s the way the others freeze up whenever she shows up, now that she’s Force Captain. It _should_ be satisfying, but instead it just feels kinda hollow. Probably because she always thought that there’d be two of them being Force Captains, instead of just being stuck on her own –but that’s not something she lets herself dwell on too much.

She’s in the middle of a training session when the guard appears, voice metallic and flat through his helmet as he tells her Shadow Weaver is expecting her in the Black Garnet chamber, _immediately_. Like he’s telling her about the weather, or something, instead of the complete ruination of her already pretty goddamn terrible day.

For a moment, she stands there, and considers not going. Thinks about Shadow Weaver’s face as she waits for Catra to show up; whatever boring, grandiloquent speech she’s prepared –or maybe she just improvs them, who knows– forever stopped before it can begin. The thought _is_ pretty satisfying.

And then she sighs and heads to the locker room to change.

She’s learnt to know what to expect, in the Chamber. The most likely is probably some kind of long, dramatic diatribe about her own incompetence. Maybe worse, if Shadow Weaver’s plan to get her prized Force Captain back failed especially spectacularly.

What’s she’s _not_ expecting, however, is to find herself staring at said Force Captain in person.

Adora’s passed out, on a low table that could pass as a cot if you were blind and also didn’t know what a cot was. There’s a nasty looking bruise on her temple, her uniform’s ragged and torn in places, and her hair is a mess, but it’s unmistakably, definitely _her_.

A lot of emotions rush through Catra at once. She barely has the time to make sure any trace of _relief_ is stamped out before Shadow Weaver melts out of the shadows, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Ah, Catra. How kind of you to join us.”

For once, she’s too gobsmacked to come up with a smart-ass reply.

Then again, it’s not like Shadow Weaver needs much prompting. She drifts over to Adora’s side, head tilted as she looks down, one hand smoothing over the flyaways that have escaped the girl’s ponytail. “You’ll notice we have a returning element.”

Catra finds her voice, but she’s still too taken aback to school her tone, be it into snark or respect. “How did you–“

A dismissive handwave interrupts her. “Well, as always, I have found the old adage to be true: if you want something done _properly_ , then you ought to do it yourself. My shadow spies proved remarkably more efficient than your attempts.” Even with the smooth, impassible metal of the mask, the disdain in her expression is perceivable. “Then again, that was to be expected.”

Catra clenches her fists but doesn’t take the bait.

Shadow Weaver’s tone softens, losing the hard edge as she strokes a light, gloved finger against the bruise at Adora’s temple. “They caught up to her in Mystacor, just as planned. Unfortunately, some… complications arose, making it so her removal from the situation ended up necessitating a bit of unpleasantness.” The finger lingers on the bruise for a moment, before lifting. “But it’s for the best, in the end.”

So she sent her spies to trail Adora, knocked her out, and dragged her back the Fright Zone. Talk about unoriginal. Catra’d have succeeded too, if she’d had _magical shadow spies that could go anywhere_.

She crosses her arms, trying to regain a bit of composure. “Congrats,” she says, a corner of her mouth lifting sardonically. “I’m sure Adora’s going to be so touched. _Oh, wow, you sent your creepy shadow spies after me and clubbed me over the head? Well, of course_ now _I’m going to leave the rebellion and come back to the Horde_.” Catra shakes her head. “She’ll be gone as soon as she wakes up if you don’t lock her up, and I’m guessing that’s not very Force Captain duties compatible.”

She’s expecting some kind of telling-off –Shadow Weaver rarely appreciated being reminded of the flaws in her plans, after all. To her surprise –and uneasiness–, the woman only laughs, the sound grating.

“Oh, that won’t be a problem.” She turns back to Catra, and she _hates_ how she feels herself stand up straighter in response. “Which is why you’re here.”

She still manages an eyebrow raise. “Thought we’d established I really wasn’t the right motivation to keep Adora around.” The words are full of sarcasm, but the truth beneath them stings.

“Do you really think I’d rely on _you_ for anything, much less something important as this?” She lets out a dismissive breath that could almost have been a laugh. “No, I’ve taken care of the issue myself. Adora won’t be going back to the Rebellion. She won’t even try.”

“And why’s that? Sudden change of heart? Another morality crisis?”

“Because she won’t remember them.”

The quick, snarky retorts die in Catra’s throat, along with her bravado. “What?”

Shadow Weaver shakes her head, almost indulgently. “You always did underestimate the extent of my abilities, Catra. I don’t know why –it’s hardly as though I gave you reason to.” She sighs, turning to look at Adora over her shoulder. “I removed all memory of her interactions with the Rebellion. Anything that happened over the past couple of weeks, since the day before she left.”

Catra’s throat is drier than sandpaper, and there’s a weight crushing her chest, and she can’t _breathe_ – “You can’t do that.”

She can _hear_ the smile under the mask, the mix of pity and genuine amusement. “Oh, Catra. Do you really think there’s anything I _cannot_ do?”

There’s always been rumors, of course. Shadow Weaver can be in several places at once. Shadow Weaver can see through walls. Shadow Weaver melts like old plastic in direct sunlight and that’s why she always wears a mask –okay, that one she’d made up to make Adora laugh.

But of all of them, all those stupid rumors, _Shadow Weaver can get into your head and do what she wants_ had always been the worst, to Catra. The woman was everywhere already, seeping into every corner, every minute of her existence, with a sharp word or a glacial reminder of all the ways in which Catra was a disappointment. The idea that she could get into her head not just metaphorically, but physically? That there was really nothing that would be safe from her grasp? It had struck home, creating a twist of fear at the pit of her stomach that she’d never quite managed to shake off. She’d grown up, relegated the idea to stupid childhood belief, but never really managed to completely ignore the cold, awful feeling of _what if_.

The confirmation that it is real is about as welcome as a baton hit to the face. Cuts off her breathing like one, too.

“With the memories gone, Adora will have no reason to go back to the Whispering Woods,” Shadow Weaver continues. She flicks her hand, and the shadows at her feet grow tangible, twisting up into the air, finally parting to reveal that stupid sword. In the dark red light, it looks washed out, fragile. “And even if she _were_ to go back, there’d be nothing for her to find.”

Another flick of the wrist, and the sword is gone. She turns back to Adora, head tilting.

“It’s a shame. She was gone so long; there was a lot to take away. The aftereffects might be much worse than what they’d have been if you’d brought her back when I asked you to.” A despondent shake of the head. “Just one more of the many ways in which you’ve made her life worse.”

“It won’t work.” In her panic, she’s forgotten to paper her words over with cool indifference or disrespectful mockery. Her tone is far too close to _desperate_ for comfort, but she can’t help it. “Okay, yeah, you take her memories. You take her magic sword, whatever. But she’s a Force Captain now. You’re going to have to send her into the field eventually, and then she’ll see. She didn’t leave because of the Rebellion or the stupid sword. She left because she saw what the Horde was doing. She saw–“ _People being hurt, the same way Catra had been getting hurt, all her life._

It’d never been enough, when it had just been Catra, though.

“She’ll leave again,” Catra finishes, voice firmer to silence the thought.

But Shadow Weaver isn’t angry –she keeps that same, pity-filled calm that is setting every nerve Catra has on edge. “Everything has been taken care of,” she simply says, with her usual level of annoyingly cryptic.

Before Catra can ask –not like she would give the woman the satisfaction anyway–, Shadow Weaver continues, her usual authority seeping back into her voice: “When Adora wakes up, she’ll remember having been attacked by rebels during your little… outing.” The word carries all the weight of the punishments Catra’s had to endure for it. “As far she’ll be concerned, she’ll have spent the following two weeks at their mercy, until the Horde led a successful operation to retrieve her. I’ve given her mind suggestions of what could have happened, but her recollections will be blurry at the most, gaps filled in by her own mind. _You_ are not to contradict any part of that story.”

The threat isn’t even veiled, but Catra’s still reeling, trying to see how Shadow Weaver can think _any_ of this could ever work, and battling with the very strange feelings that come with the idea that it _might_. “But the others–“

“All rumors to the contrary, any word of Adora having _defected_ , have been taken care of.” With the new knowledge of Shadow Weaver’s abilities, the words carry more meaning than they ever have. “I hope you realize that I would not be pleased to hear any more of that nonsense whispered amongst the cadets.”

Threat, again. “If you’re worried I’m going to blab, why aren’t you taking my memories too?” The very idea makes her blood run cold, second only to the thought that, for all she knows, Shadow Weaver’s done it before –how would she know any different?

She’s almost expecting her to reveal that it’s what comes next, that it’s the real reason Catra was summoned here.

But no. She’s much crueler than that.

She scoffs. “Why would I?” Slowly, she lifts a hand, and Catra feels her muscles lock into place as the first tendrils of magic wrap around her ankles, drifting up. “No, I _want_ you to remember. I want you to remember how _kind_ I was to you.”

The black shadows are ice cold as they wrap around her ribcage, but it’s not why she freezes up when Shadow Weaver takes a step forward and delicately brushes her gloved fingers against her cheek. “After all, this is what you wanted, isn’t it? Adora, back with the Horde. Everything as it should be. You should be thanking me.”

The shadows tighten suddenly, turning into ice cold iron around her, and Shadow Weaver’s fingers close into a hard, tight grip around her jaw. “ _However_. I am not prone to giving second chances. Should I find myself in the position of having to reprogram Adora again, I might find myself being a lot more _thorough_.”

She lets go, but black shadows take up residence around Catra’s throat instead, unyielding. Shadow Weaver tilts her head. “Adora’s attachment to you has always held her back. I’m sure she could achieve so much more if it were to be… removed.”

She _can’t_ do that– there’s no way she could do that. They _grew up_ together; removing Catra would mean removing Adora’s entire childhood, and Catra _knows_ , she’s _sure_ that even Shadow Weaver couldn’t do that–

“And _then_ ,” Shadow Weaver continues, as Catra struggles to breathe through the unbreakable hold –or maybe just through the words–, “who knows what’ll happen to you? Stars know you’re only here because Adora cares to keep you around. You’re nothing if not for her, not to anyone here. So I strongly suggest you keep my instructions in mind, for _both_ your sakes.”

 _But what if she_ can?

Satisfied with Catra’s silence –even if she wasn’t struggling to breathe enough to stay conscious, she doubts she’d find anything to say–, Shadow Weaver taps a gloved finger to her Force Captain insignia. “As for _this_ , with Adora’s return, there’s no need of your keeping it. The Horde has quite enough Force Captains to–“

A small, pitiful groan echoes from the cot.

Instantly, the tendrils fall away, dissolving into nothing. Catra gasps for air, hands falling to her knees for support, as Shadow Weaver turns around. “ _Adora_.” Her tone has lost all the sharpness, instead turning so syrupy sweet it almost makes Catra gag.

Adora blinks a few times, expression hazy and confused. She attempts to sit up, one hand immediately flying to her temple with another groan of pain. “What– Where am– What happened?”

“You’ll be confused for a little while, it’s perfectly natural,” Shadow Weaver continues, fake concern lacing the edges of the words like barbs along a wire.

But Adora’s shaking her head now, heel of her palm digging into her eye as she mumbles. “No, this isn’t– I’m not… Why am I…”

For one _glorious_ moment, Catra thinks she’s about to witness Shadow Weaver _fail_.

And then, Adora glows. Not the blinding, headache inducing way she does when she uses her sword –no, this is the dim, dark red glow that suffuses every one of Shadow Weaver’s tricks. Feeling vaguely ill, Catra watches as the light recedes and Adora’s expression relaxes, her hand dropping. “Shadow Weaver,” she says, like this is _normal_ , “ma’am, I’m so–“

But the woman interrupts the budding apology with a wave of the hand. “We’ll discuss this later. We’re only happy to have you back with us, Force Captain.”

Adora nods, wincing a little as she brushes a finger against the bruise. “The rebels–“

“–were taken care of,” Shadow Weaver completes, and when Adora nods again, it’s more resolute.

“Good. I–“ She looks up, and her sentence trails off when her gaze falls on Catra.

For one irrational second, she thinks Adora’s about to _pounce_.

Instead, the girl breaks into a wide, happy, fucking _dazzling_ smile. “Catra!” she exclaims, like she’s so happy to see her –and, well, she probably is.

It’s almost worse than if she’d attacked.

Shadow Weaver’s eyeroll is almost audible. “Catra,” and she says it like you’d talk about a slug you accidentally stepped on, “will take you back to your quarters to rest–“

But Adora’s not listening, instead struggling to right herself, eyes wide and happy. “You’re okay! I’m _so_ sorry, I didn’t mean for you to be in danger like this, I should have been more careful in the first place–“

The barrage of apologies is very Adora-like, but its contents don’t make any sense. “What,” Catra says, a bit blankly, because, well, _what_?

Adora pauses, cocking her head to the side like _duh_. “Well, the operation, obviously! I can’t believe your first Force Captain job was to retrieve _me_ , ugh, I’m such an idiot.” She winces for a bit, but it softens back into a proud, happy smile. “Congrats on a job well done, though.”

It takes a while to click in Catra’s head –and, from her baffled silence, in Shadow Weaver’s too.

Adora thinks _Catra_ ’s the one who rescued her from the clutches of the Rebellion.

Catra briefly considers knocking Shadow Weaver’s mask off, just so she can see her _face_. Adora’s brain would fill in the gaps, _in-fucking-deed_. If she wasn’t so on edge, she’d probably have started cackling. Shadow Weaver’s orders are simple –no contradicting whatever story Adora comes up with. _That_ means that, as far as everyone is now concerned, Catra is the Force Captain who’s managed to bring Adora back to the Horde. 

Shadow Weaver, who, after all, had been in the midst of trying to demote Catra, takes a second to respond. When she does, it’s with a deliberate slowness that implies that every single word is causing her physical pain. “Force Captain Catra,” she grits out, “take Force Captain Adora back to her quarters to rest. Immediately.”

Unable –and not wanting– to suppress the smirk pulling at her lips, Catra flips a lazy salute and heads for the cot. Reflexively, Adora reaches for her and stumbles to her feet. For a moment, Catra wants to freeze at the contact, expects Adora to recoil. But the girl only leans against her, just enough to be able to stand up straight without her knees giving in, as they start towards the door. The same way she’s always done.

So why does it feel so _wrong_?

Once they’re out of the Chamber, and out of Shadow Weaver’s sight, Adora lets herself rest on Catra a bit more, slouching forward with a groan.

The mess of emotions inside Catra’s chest is _much_ too tangled to begin to unravel. Instead, she tightens her grip around the other girl’s shoulder, and tosses a quick: “You okay?”

Adora only nods, which Catra knows means she probably really isn’t. She leads them to a stack of crates, a bit out of the way of the main hall, and Adora all but collapses on it, forehead coming to rest on her knees. “I’m sorry,” she mumbles, a bit miserably, and doesn’t it pull something in Catra’s chest to hear her say those words so easily, when they’re all she’s wanted to hear for two weeks.

She stamps out the feeling, crossing her arms as casually as she can. “You got kidnapped by rebels and knocked over the head. You get a pass for a little while.”

Adora lifts her head just enough to toss her a quick look from between her arms. “How long?”

“Like, a day.”

She does that little snort-giggle thing Adora always does, and _why_ is it so surreal? She was only gone for _two weeks_ – _this_ is normal. It shouldn’t feel as weird as it does.

“Thank you.”

Catra jumps. “What?”

“For coming to get me.” Her eyes are wide and so _earnest_ , and something twists in her stomach. “And I _am_ sorry I put you in danger. All of you. So, you know. Thank you.”

The twist pulls tighter. She shrugs, looking away. “Well, you know. If you’re not around, I’m the one that’s going to have to do your job. Can’t have that.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she can see a bit of that earnestness melt back into amusement. “Riiight,” Adora says. “You sure it’s not because you like me?”

“It’s _not_ because I like you.”

Adora hums like _yeah, sure_ , before breaking into laughter. It’s tired, a bit weak, but it’s Adora, laughing with her. Like it’s happened millions of times. Like Catra’s been wishing it would happen again, ever since that stupid day in the woods. Part of her relaxes at the familiarity.

Another part of her says _this is what you wanted,_ in a cold, metallic voice, and all hint of warmth flees her immediately. She straightens up, swallowing hard. “Come on, let’s get you back to the barracks. You need to sleep.”

Adora nods, apparently missing the shift in tone, and she lets Catra pull her to her feet with no resistance. They start again on their slow, laborious march to the barracks, Adora’s head gradually lowering to Catra’s shoulder as they cross empty corridors. Catra thinks she might have fallen asleep, or near enough, but she speaks again, words slow and the tiniest bit slurred. “I’m glad they didn’t get you, too.”

Catra almost trips, regaining her balance just in time to avoid sending the both of them crashing to the floor. “What?”

“The rebels. I’m glad you got away.”

“Oh.” Right. As far as Adora’s concerned, they were both attacked, and Catra managed to escape, letting Adora get captured. How very Shadow Weaver.

Honestly, she’s almost offended that _this_ isn’t enough to get Adora to see that the whole memory is fake. As if Catra ever would – _she_ ’s not the one who leaves people behind.

Before it can make her bitter enough to do something really stupid, that train of thought gets completely derailed by Adora’s next few words: “I did miss you, though.”

Now _that_ doesn’t sound like Shadow Weaver. “Do you even remember any of it?” she asks, managing to land on casual even though her stomach’s flipping all over itself.

Adora lets out a breath of a laugh –Catra feels it against the side of her neck more than she hears it, and she reflexively bites her own cheek, hard. “Maybe not _all_ of it,” she admits. “It’s kinda… blurry. But I remember that.”

Catra doesn’t respond, because what the _fuck_ is she supposed to say to that, but Adora isn’t done, apparently. She taps a finger against the insignia Shadow Weaver tried to take back barely a few minutes ago. “Congrats on the promotion by the way. I’m glad at least _some_ good came out of this mess.” Her hand drops, and Catra feels her lean against her a bit more. “Shadow Weaver can’t deny how good you are now that she’s seen you in action.”

“She definitely can, and she definitely will.”

Adora scrunches her face a little –Catra sees it out of the corner of her eye, even though she’s trying to focus on literally anything else. “Okay, yeah, she might. But everyone _else_ ’ll know at least. And we’re both Force Captains now; just like we always wanted.”

 _You should be thanking me_.

Catra’s saved from having to come up with an answer by their arriving at the door of the sleeping quarters. They stumble through, and Adora crashes face first onto her bed, face smushing into her pillow with a low groan.

Déjà vu floods Catra, endless occasions where they’d taken each other back to the barracks after a training incident flashing through her mind. She clears her throat. “You should, uh, sleep. I’ll– get you something to eat, or whatever.”

She’s already backing up, but before she can get out, Adora’s hand shoots out, grasping her wrist. “Wait,” she says, head lifting, revealing wide, panicked blue eyes. She blinks a few times, looking lost. “Can you… Can you stay?”

The irony almost kills her on the spot.

 _Why should I? You didn’t_.

“Please?” Adora adds, voice softening into a barely audible whisper.

She swallows against a dry, scratchy throat, and, reflexively, starts to take a step forward.

 _I’m not coming back, Catra_.

She jumps back, breaking Adora’s hold. The girl’s reaction is immediate, expression falling, and Catra swallows down the guilt. “I– I can’t right now. I’ll come back round later.”

“Oh.” It’s like everything about her has just deflated –she’s hunched over, eyes looking down in an –unsuccessful– effort to hide the hurt shining in them. “Yeah. Okay.”

Catra bolts. She’s pretty sure she doesn’t even _breathe_ until she’s out of that room, the door safely shut behind her. Only then does she let herself fall back against the wall, breathing ragged.

This is what she wanted. Everything is back to normal.

So why does it feel like anything _but_?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally going to be a one-shot, and then it was going to be 3 chapters, and then chapter 1 ended up being 10k, so now it’s 4 chapters. If the other chapters end up the same way (which they really might, lol), the count might go up a bit. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, and I’d love to hear what you thought!


	2. Chapter 2

Everyone is _thrilled_ to have Adora back.

At first, Catra doubted that Shadow Weaver had really managed it. After all, she knows firsthand how quickly rumors spread in the Fright Zone, and how hard they are to stamp out. Word of Adora’s switching sides had been gaining traction over the past few days. No way, she thought, had Shadow Weaver managed to track down every whisper of it.

But either it wasn’t as largely spread as she thought, either Shadow Weaver did some kind of mass mindwipe, because there isn’t even a shifting glance or a hint of a whisper. No, all Adora gets are congratulations and enthusiastic welcomes. It’s not _that_ surprising, because Adora’s always been liked.

What’s much more bizarre, is that Catra gets her own share of it too. Apparently, word has gone around that she’s the one who led the operation to get Adora back. The fact that there never was an operation isn’t a problem, somehow –suddenly, everyone knows about it, even if no one seems to remember the details.

But, as weird as they are, the congratulations and admiring smiles aren't really the problem, right now. She wishes it were that easy.

She hoped, at first, that it was just the shock; that things would feel like normal soon enough, because, well, on the outside at least, they were. Better than normal, even; she and Adora, both Force Captains, working together, fighting together. It was what they’d always wanted.

Unfortunately, even now, days later, everything is still tinted with that off, unsettling haze. It takes her a little while to put her finger on it.

She’s waiting for the other shoe to drop.

For all the time she’s spent hoping Adora would come back and that things would get back to normal, the fact that they just _have_ feels too simple. Catra’s known Adora a long time, and she’s by far the most stubborn person she’s ever met. Deep down, Catra knows that when Adora said she wouldn’t be coming back to the Horde, she meant it.

So the fact that she _is_ here now, like none of it ever happened… It feels wrong. Temporary. Like a dream that’ll dissolve any minute.

And then she’ll leave again.

And so, Catra keeps her distance. Adora’s noticed, because even if Catra teases her for her lack of observation skills, it’d be pretty hard not to. But every time she looks like she might bring it up, Catra's gone before she can. Every time, Adora looks like a kicked puppy, hurt and confusion flashing across her features, but Catra can’t help it. Any moment now, the veil will lift, and Adora’ll be gone again.

But days pass, and that moment never comes. Adora recovers and gets back to training –not necessarily in that order–, and basically acts like nothing has changed. And of course she does; nothing _has_ , as far as she’s concerned. It’s just another day in the Horde, another day working towards what they’ve worked for all their lives.

There’s no dramatic moment where Shadow Weaver’s spell suddenly fails; no morning where she wakes up and stares at Catra with that same, hard look she had at Salineas. There's no sudden princess invasion from her new best friends to get her back, either –and Catra finds herself thinking even less of them than she already did for that one, before she manages to suppress the thought.

And even in the moments when it feels like everything is about to shatter, like there’s no way the smoke won’t clear and reveal the mirrors, it holds.

One of those moments comes in Force Captain orientation –“there’s a Force Captain orientation?” Adora asks, eyes wide with panic at the idea of having missed some classes–, when the sergeant starts talking about reviewing the records of a previous invasion. Catra instantly freezes, muscles locking into place as her mind battles _fight or flight_.

This is it. Adora is going to see what the Horde does, actually _see_ it, and the spell is going to break. Shadow Weaver might think she has everything under control, but she hasn’t seen it like Catra has. She hasn’t seen the way Adora looked at Thaymor, the panic and the hurt in her eyes. The way she cared about these people, even though she’d never even met them.

But the screen starts showing footage, of tanks descending on a village, of buildings set on fire, of green weapon blasts and Adora doesn’t blink. She watches, like it’s any other lesson. Takes notes. Asks a couple of questions at the end.

The class can’t last more than hour, and yet it feels like a year to Catra. She doesn’t take in anything, too busy cataloguing the slightest shift, the smallest twitch that might mean Adora’s about to remember. Or hell, that she’s just going to switch sides all over again –seeing all this did the trick once, after all. There's no reason why it wouldn’t again.

Except there is a reason, and that reason is apparently whatever Shadow Weaver did to Adora. The attack gets deconstructed, analyzed, and critiqued, and Adora doesn't so much as frown once.

Eventually, the class ends; people stand up and gather their things to leave the room, but Catra stays rooted to the spot, disbelief freezing her into place.

By the time Adora realizes, they’re the only ones left in the room. She stops at the door, frowning as she looks over her shoulder. “Catra? You coming?”

“You’re okay with this?”

The words are insane –the opposite of what Shadow Weaver’s told her to do. Pushing is the last thing she should be doing. But she can’t help it –the contrast between Adora’s calm, studious demeanor and the desperation that was etched on her face at Thaymor is giving her freaking _whiplash_.

Adora frowns, not understanding. “Okay with… What?”

She should brush it off. Instead, she stands and gestures towards the now switched off screen. “All of it. Any of it. What the Horde did to that village?”

Adora blinks. Looks at the screen like the images are still there, then back at Catra, that frown in the middle of her forehead showing that the words aren’t making sense to her. “The rebel outpost, you mean?”

Catra needs to shut up. What is she even _doing_? She should be happy; if anything, this proves that Adora’s here to stay, that she’s not going to change her mind. So why is she pushing her luck like this? “It’s a village full of civilians.”

Adora just shrugs. “Sure, if you want. Civilian rebels.” Catra just gapes at her, and her confusion starts to turn into something closer to concern. “Catra, are you okay? You’ve been acting kind of weird these past few–“

“I’m not acting weird,” she says immediately which, of course, makes it very clear that she’s been acting weird.

Adora sighs, and Catra expects her to walk away. Instead, she makes her way over, hesitating for a second before setting her hands on Catra’s shoulders. It’s the closest they’ve been physically since Adora’s come back, and it makes Catra’s mouth run a bit dry. “Catra… You know you can talk to me, right? If something’s wrong?”

“What makes you think anything’s wrong?” It comes out defensive, but she doesn’t shrug out of Adora’s grip either.

Adora lifts one eyebrow. “Apart from literally everything, you mean?” Catra rolls her eyes and starts a step back, but Adora reaffirms her hold. “It’s just… You act strange, and now you’re, what, questioning what we’re doing? Doesn’t sound like you.”

“I’m just surprised, I guess. That you’re–fine with this.” She needs to be _quiet_.

The confused frown makes a comeback. “Why wouldn’t I be? Catra, it’s what we’ve been working for our whole lives. Why would I suddenly not be okay with it?”

_I don’t know, why were you?_

Before she can voice the thought and ruin this completely, Adora’s gaze grows a little vacant, and she continues speaking. “I mean… Of course, if there was another way… I mean, if it didn’t have to be like this, then it’d– it’d be better if we didn’t have to…” She winces, for the shortest of seconds, and then when she speaks again, it’s firmer. “But this is the way things are. The rebels are a threat. I’d know. What we do, we do for the good of Etheria.”

On that, she drops her hands and smiles. “Now come on. We need to go, or we’ll be late.”

Catra follows without a word as they head out, mind reeling. Adora isn’t going to change her mind. She’s here to stay, there’s no doubt anymore. It should fix things –should finally uncoil that twist that's been making it hard to breathe right for days.

But it doesn’t –the feeling remains, sharp and suffocating. Because, yeah, Adora is staying.

But the words that confirmed that? Catra's heard them all her life. Enough times, in fact, that there is absolutely no doubt in her mind.

They were Shadow Weaver’s words, in Adora’s mouth.

*

Adora’s been having nightmares.

It’s impossible not to notice. Well, the others haven't noticed, probably, because Adora’s long learned to be quiet with that sort of thing –displays of weakness aren’t exactly an advantage while growing up in the Horde; why give anyone free ammunition against you?–, but Catra’s too attuned to her not to know. That’s what 17 years of sleeping near someone will do to you.

And so, whenever Adora’s been jolting awake with a suppressed gasp, Catra’s been waking up too, same as she always has.

Unlike how she always has however, instead of tossing her a word, or wrapping her tail around the girl’s ankle, she’s been gritting her teeth and burying her face into her pillow.

That first night after she came back, Adora had been asleep when Catra had crawled into bed, so she’d not immediately reacted to the fact that she’d gone to her own bunk instead of her usual spot at the foot of Adora’s bed. She’d just looked a bit confused in the morning. The following nights, however, well… The hurt, confused look in the bright blue eyes had almost been enough to get Catra to relent and pretend everything was fine.

Almost.

But she hadn’t wanted to take the risk. Getting used to this, only to lose it again? Yeah, no thanks.

But even now that she’s reasonably convinced Adora’s not about to bail again, she’s still refusing to sleep anywhere that’s not her own bunk. Just like she’s refusing to help Adora out with her nightmares, against every instinct she has.

The worst part is that she's not even really sure _why_ she's doing it.

This time, Catra’s awake before Adora, and it’s not even because of the noise. Some of her nightmares are the tossing and turning kind, the tangling of bedsheets and thumps of Adora’s fists against the mattress snapping her out of sleep, but it’s not one of those tonight. Instead, it’s one where she goes completely still –tense, muscles locked, breath shallow. They’re the worst ones, Catra knows from long years of experience, and she’s gotten used to waking up to the sudden silence, the stillness where Adora’s peaceful breathing should be.

It's one of the many reasons why sleeping had been tricky, after she left.

Stubbornly, she keeps her eyes shut, hoping against hope she’ll manage to fall back asleep before Adora wakes up.

The silence below her is suddenly broken by one short, gasping inhale, which quickly trails off into a choked sob.

Catra squeezes her eyes shut tighter, and digs her claws into the flimsy mattress.

She doesn’t need to see it to know what’s happening. Adora’s lying still, eyes wide, unblinking, staring at the underside of Catra’s mattress. Her fists are clenched, nails digging into her palms, maybe even hard enough to draw blood, if the dream was bad enough. All her efforts are channeled into keeping her breathing quiet, into making sure no one hears, be it the people sleeping around them or whatever lurked in her dreams. And if no one intervenes, she’s going to stay like that a while.

Catra grits her teeth, and waits. She has a feeling tonight’s going to be long, that this was a particularly bad one. She just hopes it’s not as bad as she thinks, because if it is–

The sheets rustle, and Catra knows what’s coming.

“Catra?”

It’s barely a whisper –nothing anyone would hear. Anyone but Catra, which Adora knows, because that’s how it’s always been.

More rustling, as Adora stands, and when the whisper comes again, it’s from higher up, spoken between the horizontal metal bars that line the edge of the top bunk. “Catra.”

She doesn’t want to respond, but the edge of desperation flicks on an instinct that’s been forged over too many years to be ignored –the same way she’s learned to dodge an oncoming quarterstaff, or jump out of the way of a laser blast, she’s learned to react to that tone coming from Adora.

She's pretty sure that even if Adora had been gone for years instead of weeks, she still wouldn't be able to suppress it.

She lifts her head from her pillow, and for a second almost wishes her vision wasn’t as good as it is. If it was just a little bit worse, then maybe she wouldn’t have to see the trembling of her mouth, pressed into a flat, tight line, or the tears still leaking at the corner of her eye.

Catra doesn’t say anything, knows her eyes glowing faintly are enough to tell Adora she’s listening.

For a moment, Adora just stands there, staring at her, staring _through_ her, until she manages to choke out: “Please?”

Catra knows what she’s asking, and part of her wants to say no, so, _so_ badly. Turn her back on Adora. Ignore her entirely.

Instead, she sits up with a sigh, pushes off her sheets, and goes over the railing, landing noiselessly on her feet next to the other girl. “Come on,” she mumbles, and leads the way out of the barracks, sensing more than hearing Adora trailing after her.

Most of the time, after a nightmare, Adora would just fall back asleep. Sometimes it’d take a while. Sometimes it’d take a few whispered words between the two of them, a reminder that this was real, that whatever her mind had come up with wasn’t.

But sometimes, that wasn’t enough. And so, sometimes, they did this.

The halls are deserted, and they’ve done this enough time to know how to avoid any patrols. They sneak their way from shadow to shadow, passing behind crates and metal piping, and soon enough, Catra pushes the door to one of the small sparring rooms crammed at the back of the training zone.

Adora has, after all, always been a _punch your feelings out_ kind of guy. When everything else failed, this usually did the trick, draining her enough to let her get back to sleep. They’d started when they were ten.

Already, Adora’s breathing better. She winces against the flood of white light when Catra flips the light switch, but her shoulders relax a fraction as she takes in the familiar bare space. She runs her hands over her face, smoothes out her ponytail, and steps onto the thin mat after Catra. For one second, they stand still, taking each other in.

And then Catra pounces.

She goes flying forward, aiming a precise hit towards Adora’s jaw. She’s blocked easily, the other girl bringing an arm up and deflecting. Adora’s leg shoots out to swipe Catra’s from underneath her, but she sees the move coming from a mile away and jumps out of reach. She’s about to send a kick flying in retaliation when Adora suddenly charges at her, forcing her to twist out of the way to avoid getting pinned down.

Adora rains down hit after hit towards Catra, but they’re easily avoided –she’s still half asleep, still half stuck in her nightmare, and her moves aren’t as coordinated and precise as they would usually be. But then again, landing hits isn’t the point; it’s not like at Salineas.

Unfortunately, that’s something Catra’s still fuzzy mind is having a hard time remembering. She’s not supposed to land too many hits either; her attacks are mostly about giving Adora something to fight back against. But she keeps catching herself right before doing actual damage –sharp claws extended further than she’d meant, hits flying through clumsy defenses more precisely than they should.

They’ve spent their whole lives fighting together, with only a two-week blip where they fought against each other, and yet, Catra realizes with a cold twist in her lungs, it is _so_ easy to fight against Adora.

When Adora’s blows start growing clumsy enough that she looks like she’s more likely to hurt herself than anything else, Catra ends it. Almost delicately, she ducks out of the way of a punch, grabs Adora’s shoulder, and pulls, while bringing one of her legs behind the girl’s knees. Adora goes down, her back crashing into the thin mat, and Catra brings one knee over her thigh, one arm across her shoulders to keep her down. “Better?”

Adora’s face is flushed, her breathing ragged, but she’s lost a bit of the haunted look. She nods. “Yeah.” Her head drops back against the mat with a dull thud. “Yeah. Thank you.”

Catra only nods, stepping off and rising to her feet, before offering a hand to Adora, who takes it to stand. She does look better, most of the tension having left her. Unfortunately, it seems to have made its way to Catra instead. The fight’s left her restless, and she steps back, rocking back on her heels, and forward to the balls of her feet. She can already tell she’s not going to sleep again tonight, but still, she tilts her head towards the door. “We should go before the next patrol–“

“Did I do something wrong?”

_Shit_.

The restlessness increases tenfold. “What are you–“

“Cause you’ve been avoiding me, like, a lot, and I keep racking my brain trying to figure out what I did wrong and I really can’t place it and now I’m just–“

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Catra interrupts, the lie bitter on her tongue. But it’s not like she can call out Adora on something she doesn’t even _remember_ doing.

Adora lets out a little laugh, but it’s nervous, not amused. “So, what, you’re just giving me the cold shoulder for no reason?”

“I’m not giving you–“

“Catra.” The look on her face is _come on_ , and _I might not be the smartest person that’s ever lived but I’m not that stupid_ , and _don’t lie to me_ , and _stars_ does Catra hate how easy it is to read her right now –or maybe she just hates how it should be just as easy for Adora to read her back and yet she can’t seem to.

She scrubs her hands against her face, the lack of sleep suddenly dropping on her like lead. “Look,” she starts, with absolutely no idea where she’s going, “it’s not–“

“Is this about Thaymor?”

Catra’s hands and heart both drop. “What?”

Adora shuffles on her feet, awkward. “Well, it’s the only thing there is, isn’t there? You’re mad at me about Thaymor.”

Catra can barely hear her over the blood rushing in her ears. “You remember Thaymor?”

She scoffs, a bit of ease returning in her tone. “I told you, I wasn’t _that_ out of it.”

“What do you remember?”

“Well.” More shuffling, shifting from one foot to the other. “You, rescuing me. Obviously.”

Oh. Of course. Filling in the gaps –Adora’s brain had used real things and twisted them into a version that fit what Shadow Weaver had convinced it to be the truth. And so now, instead of what it actually was –aka the biggest fucking mess Catra had ever seen–, the invasion of Thaymor is now where the Horde rescued Adora. It’s where Catra succeeded.

Where Adora came home.

Something bitter and scalding floods Catra, and she stands up straighter. “What else?”

“Huh?”

“What else do you remember, about Thaymor?”

“Oh.” She takes a second to think about it, gaze growing a little vacant. “Uh. Well. I _was_ kinda out of it, I guess, but–“ She catches Catra staring at her, and now she’s the one standing up straighter, chin jutting out a bit. “Fighting. There was fighting.”

Catra cocks an eyebrow. “Wow, so descriptive. It’s like I’m there all over again,” she drawls, sarcasm masking over the way her heart is pounding in her chest.

Adora rolls her eyes and continues. “Tanks. Bots. _Lots_ of them. The rebels never saw you coming.”

Catra starts pacing. Slow, leisurely, and, she knows, infuriating, as she makes her way closer to Adora, in circles that get narrower on each pass. She hums noncommittally and Adora clenches her fists, her awkwardness melting into real annoyance.

“There were princesses there,” she says, brow furrowing –in frustration or concentration, Catra can’t really tell.

“Oh, really? What kind of princesses?” There’s playing with fire, and then there’s whatever the hell she’s doing right now. But this is proof; the memories are still within reach, and if they come back, then Adora will leave again. And if that’s going to happen, well– better now, at Catra’s hand. She’s not going to sit around and wait for it to happen on its own.

But the question seems to stump Adora. “I–“ She shakes her head, lost. “I don’t– Just princesses, that’s all I–“

“Crystal clear recollections, I see." Her voice is way too hard for this to just be dumb teasing, and Adora notices.

“Why does it even matter?”

She manages a shrug that could maybe pass as casual –not with Adora though. “It doesn’t.”

“It clearly does! Ugh, Catra, I just–“ She digs her fists into her eyes for a moment, the angry energy leaving her in one, quick breath. Her shoulders drop, and when her hands fall away, she looks so scared that Catra feels her own anger leave her, too. “ _What_ is going on?”

She looks away, uncomfortable. “Nothing’s going on.”

Adora blows out a long breath. “Look, it’s just– Everything’s been weird, since I got back, okay? _Don’t_ tell me it hasn’t been,” she says quickly when Catra opens her mouth to do just that. “You’re avoiding me, and, I don’t know, even the others, it’s– different.”

“You’re a Force Captain now,” Catra interjects, hoping the nervous energy buzzing through her isn't too obvious. “It can’t be the same.”

But Adora only shakes her head. “It’s not that. And then– And then those dreams, it’s just…”

It’s like time freezes for a moment. “What dreams?” she asks, against her better judgement.

Adora hesitates. “It’s stupid.”

“So stupid it’s got us both in a sparring room in the middle of the night. What dreams?”

The other girl shakes her head, sending tendrils of hair that have escaped her ponytail drifting over her face, but eventually she relents. “It’s like… It’s nothing clear, it’s all… muddled. But– there’s something I have to do, and it’s so, so important, but I can never remember it.”

“Figures you’d dream about deadlines.”

“But to do it,” Adora continues, looking like she hasn’t even heard Catra’s interruption, “I have to do something else. I have to– go somewhere.” All the good the fight did is long gone; she looks just as haunted as she did when they first walked in here, or maybe even worse. “And… you’re there.”

Catra jumps, not having expected the address. “I’m where?”

“Here. The place–“ Her voice trails off, and she swallows hard, looking down at the floor. “The place I have to leave. And I _have_ to go, but I don’t want to, because you’re still there, but it’s like… I try everything, to stay with you, and I try to get you to come with me, but it always ends the same way.”

Catra knows how it ends. “How does it end?” she asks anyway.

Adora looks back up at her, eyes wide and lost. “I leave,” she says simply. “And you watch me. And I think… I think you might hate me.”

Catra’s pretty sure she’s stopped breathing a full minute ago. It takes her another to get herself together enough that she’s sure her neutral mask won’t drop. “You’re right.”

Adora startles, mouth dropping into an o. “What?”

“You’re right. That is stupid.” Adora lets out an incredulous huff of laughter, and Catra shakes her head, distantly surprised that she can still stand there when the ground has apparently vanished under her feet. Stars, figures that Shadow Weaver would be _shit_ at this memory wipe thing. “Look,” she says, “you’re here. I’m here. No one’s leaving anyone. And you might not be the smartest person around–“

“ _Hey_ –“

“–but I don’t hate you.”

But she doesn’t relax, hands twisting together nervously, clearly unconvinced. “Okay.”

Catra makes a snap decision. Yes, the past few days have been weird. Yes, clearly, Shadow Weaver fucked up somewhere, and Adora still dreams about the memories that were supposedly removed. Yes, she can’t be sure what’s going to happen.

But it’s _Adora_ , and more than that, it’s an upset Adora, and Catra can fix that. They can figure out the rest later. Together.

And so, she pushes down the last remaining doubts, and steps forward until she can put her hands on Adora’s upper arms. “Hey,” she says, meeting the girl’s gaze head on –something she’s been carefully avoiding doing over the last few days. “I promise, okay?”

And that, more than all the sparring, does the trick: the tension drains out of Adora as she breathes out, long and slow. “Okay,” she says with a small smile. “Okay.”

And Catra breathes better, too. She wasn’t lying, she realizes, and the relief that brings almost makes her knees buckle. She _doesn’t_ hate Adora. She’s pissed off, and unsettled, and this is still a really weird situation, but she doesn’t hate Adora.

Adora's smile becomes softer, and she gently knocks her arm into Catra's. "And you know I'm never going to leave you, right? I promise."

Even a few minutes ago, the words would have been a slap in the face –instead, they're like a burst of fresh air, because Catra _believes_ them. "Yeah," she says, and it's sincere. "I know."

She doesn't hate Adora, and Adora doesn’t want to leave her. Last time was… a blip. A freak accident. It’s never going to happen again.

She grins, feeling lighter than she has in days. “Even if you spend major battles passed out.”

Adora laughs at that, shaking off Catra’s grip and starting towards the door, Catra in tow. “I wasn’t out for the whole thing, you ass.”

Catra only hums, and Adora lets out a groan of annoyance, but it’s amused now, too. “I wasn’t!”

“Of course.”

“If I was out for the whole thing, how could I remember your stupid boat?”

The laughter dies on Catra’s lips as the floor seemingly vanishes under her feet for the second time that evening. “What?”

Adora’s kept walking, a triumphant tilt to her grin, even as Catra’s stopped in place. “See? I notice stuff.”

The sparring room is so, so cold, suddenly. “There’s no sea in Thaymor, Adora.”

She finally stops walking. When she spins on her heel, she’s frowning confusedly, a ghost of her smile still on her face. “What? No, it’s–“

“No sea. No river either.” She can taste metal.

“No, no, but–“ She smiles –hollow, fake. When she speaks again, it’s almost frantic. “No, but I remember… There was a boat, I remember. A boat, and, and, and a door and–“

But whatever Adora is about to say is lost when she suddenly collapses to her knees with a cry of pain. The sound, together with the dark red glow that suddenly suffuses her skin, snaps Catra out of her shock, and she bolts to Adora’s side reflexively. “Adora!”

The light recedes as quickly as it came, leaving her friend hunched over, one hand braced against the floor for support, one hand grasping at her temple. “I’m fine,” she gasps out, eyes still screwed shut. “I’m fine, it’ll be over in a minute, it’s–“

Catra’s blood ices over, even as she puts one hand on the girl’s shoulder for support. “This has happened before?”

Adora’s wince is answer enough. “Not a lot,” she tries to amend, features slowly relaxing. She drops her hand, and eases her eyes open.

“But it’s happened before.”

“Not rea–“ She trails off when she sees Catra’s face. “A few times. Kind of. Maybe. But it’s fine! Seriously. It’s probably just– leftover stuff from the princesses. It’ll be gone in no time, nothing to worry about.”

Adora continues her litany, clearly aiming for reassuring, even as she struggles to her feet, but Catra’s stopped listening.

She’d known, deep down, of course, that this is all Shadow Weaver’s work. It’s the reason they got Adora back, after all.

But it’s like it didn’t really sink in just how much of this is Shadow Weaver. Because maybe, just maybe, a stupid, _childish_ part of Catra hoped that it wasn’t just that; that Shadow Weaver had given the impulse, but that the rest had been Adora. Adora choosing to fight for the Horde. Adora choosing to stay.

Adora choosing her.

But no matter how hard she tries to ignore the signs, she can't will them out of existence. The red light, and the dazed looks, and the smiles while she stares at destroyed villages are reminders enough; it's not just an impulse, or a one time thing. It's probably not just a few days' worth of memories erased, either –whatever Shadow Weaver's done, it reaches further than that, Catra's sure of it. Whatever it is, she's still doing it, still influencing Adora now.

No, no matter what Adora says, no matter what she _thinks_ … Right now? Everything is Shadow Weaver’s work. When she talks about their future in the Horde –Shadow Weaver. When she says the words they’ve been saying to each other since they were kids –Shadow Weaver. When she talks about never leaving Catra – _Shadow fucking Weaver_.

Maybe it shouldn't be as surprising as it is; after all, the woman's always been in control of every aspect of Catra's life. But somehow, it is. Maybe because Catra never expected to see it happen to Adora. Adora, who was always so perfect, who was always the favorite... Why would Shadow Weaver bother to control her every move so directly when everything Adora did was perfect in her eyes anyway?

But regardless of why, the idea that _she's_ the one making Adora say these things, that she's controlling everything about her down to her thoughts… It's making Catra feel sick.

Sure, maybe the spell will hold, and maybe Adora will stay. Maybe she won’t ever leave Catra again, won’t ever try.

But if Shadow Weaver’s the reason she’s staying, Catra realizes, her chest cold and hollow, then–

Then she’d rather Adora left.

And so, Catra begins planning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know that technically force captains have individual bedrooms, but i'm making an Artistic DecisionTM for the sake of drama, so don't come for me kdfjhg
> 
> also! i wanted to give a big thank you to everyone who left kudos and/or commented on chap 1! yall really brightened my week 💕
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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